


The Dark Is Rising

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Chapter Warnings May Apply, Allies To Lovers, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Disclaimer - Harry Potter Does Not Belong To Me, M/M, Other Works May Influence Some Chapters, Seven Year Fic, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slytherin Harry Potter, Updates Monthly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a chilly early November night, Albus Dumbledore leaves Harry James Potter on the doorstep of his aunt’s home and promptly forgets about him, sure that his decision is the best option for the fifteen month old savior. Ten years later, he learns how wrong he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spider And The Fly

** **

**The Dark Is Rising**

**Spider Cider | Elijah J. Sage**

**Chapter One ~ The Spider And The Fly**

* * *

The night of the third of November, 1981 is a cold and beautiful night. The moon is a thick crescent in the sky, not quite the half moon to come in a couple days, nestled amid thousands of sparkling stars in an ink black velvet sky and thick gray clouds promising rain. In the distance, shooting stars fall like rain, too many all at once for it to be a natural occurrence. The crisp pumpkin and rain scented breeze pushes autumn leaves across the ground. The sound of the leaves brushing against each other and their surroundings is the only sound to break the tranquil silence. 

It is hard to imagine that there are people celebrating all around, all over the world in fact, when faced with such serene quiet.

A loud cracking pop noise pierces through the night’s silence, and a rather strange man simply appears on the empty street known as Privet drive, the last place one would ever expect anything extraordinary to happen. He is joined soon thereafter by a woman who had only just been a cat, and a giant of a man on a roaring motorbike who had joined them from the sky. They are there for naught more than twelve minutes, vanishing into the night the in the same ways they had arrived, in reverse order of the ways they had come. In their wake a small child is left on the doorstep of number four.

This child is the cause for tonight’s celebrations, though he is quite unaware of this fact. All around the world they jubilate for the defeat of the Dark Lord, a feat they commemorate the fifteen month old for, but no one gives thought to his sacrifice. Not one person thinks upon the loss of his parents and happy home. Not one spares a solemn thought for a recently orphaned child. They party and raise their glasses to the boy who lived, and on the doorstep of his aunt’s home the infant shivers in the autumn air and stirs fitfully in his sleep, unaware of his fame, or that he will be awakened by the screams of his aunt in the morning.

It will take ten long years for the events of this night to come back to haunt them all.

**~~**

Albus Dumbledore stands in front of a tall building with a grimace on his face. It is a squat squarish building of dark gray stones surrounded by a wrought iron fence. It has the cold sort of air of a hospital, and the few green willow trees and rose bushes in the yard do nothing at all to make it any less dismal. It is entirely possible that it is not as eerie as it seems at first glance, of course. The last time Albus was here it had been a dilapidated orphanage, after all, but he can not shake the unsettled feeling in his stomach. The Wool’s Apartment building is no more friendly than the orphanage it was named for, and despite the fact that it has been cleaned and patched up, it is a hauntingly similar picture of the orphanage it used to be as well. Albus Dumbledore verifies the address for the tenth time, despite knowing full well that he is in the correct place, and after confirming that he really is in the right place, he sighs and knocks on the door, pondering the week’s events as he waits patiently to be buzzed in, and walks up the stairs to the third floor.

Every year the Deputy-Headmistress/Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is tasked with sending out the letters of acceptance to all the children that were registered to attend that year, and the professors would visit the students that were new to the wizarding world, to personally welcome them and explain the magical world so they would not be lost. This year, however, something different and quite exciting was happening, because this was the year Harry James Potter returns to the wizarding world.

Dumbledore had pondered long and hard over his options, and after some contemplation he sent the letter himself, confident that Petunia Dursley would have less of an issue over a letter than she would if one of their kind showed up. Two days later when no response had been received, he sent another three. After no response was received, Dumbledore spent several hours pondering on how to deal with the situation. After several days he concluded that it would be best if he went there himself. But what was supposed to be a nice afternoon talking with Harry Potter and his family was exactly the opposite.

The Dursleys lost no time telling the Headmaster that they had left the child on the doorstep of the nearest police station. They informed him that they wanted nothing to do with his kind, and proceeded to close the door on his face. It took not even five seconds for Albus Dumbledore to understand what the Dursleys had told him, and he did the only thing he could think of. He ran to the police station. After a couple of hours, with a little magical help, he was able to locate where they had sent the young lost savior, and that led him to the apartments that had once been the orphanage Tom Riddle called home, siting in the living room of his foster parents former foster mother, attempting to divine the address of his adopted parents, kicking himself mentally for not digging deeper in the first place.

"So, you wish to invite Hadrian to a school for the gifted?" The small mousy woman asks, her eyes wide behind her large round glasses.

"That's correct, Mrs. Cassidy.” He confirms, a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. “He has been registered since birth. His parents were adamant that he receive the same education as they did.”

“Well he’ll certainly fit right in, if what I remember of him still rings true.” Mrs. Cassidy says softly, her voice full of pride.

Dumbledore smiles wider at that, and files it away for later. “You know, aside from his academic achievements, we know little about Mr. Potter. Could you tell me how long Harry was in your care? What kind of child he was? Anything at all would be a great help."

"Oh, yes of course. We only had Hadrian in our care for three years before he was adopted on a month before his fourth birthday.” She answers immediately. “A police officer brought him to us on Guy Fawkes 1981. I don’t know what use the little time I spent with him would be to you. He was only a tot, after all.”

Dumbledore nods to show he is listening. “You’d be surprised what we find useful. It is often the actions of one so young that determine how they will grow.”

Mrs. Cassidy nods thoughtfully, and answers. “He was quiet and very solitary. He’d always been a bit, well, eerie for lack of a better word.”

Dumbledore makes a thoughtful humming sound. Now she looks uncomfortable, and the foster mother hastens to defend him. “He was not a bad child, you understand.” She says. “ He was an incredibly bright child, as you surely must be aware. Some regarded him as a prodigy. I’m sure that stands true to this day.”

“I am well aware of his academic achievements, Mrs. Cassidy.” Dumbledore placates, though he was not aware in the slightest. He should have expected from her earlier comment though, that the young boy-who-lived was quite intelligent. “What else can you tell me about young Mr. Potter? How was he with his friends?” At the awkward look on her face, he gently asks, “Surely he wasn’t a bully that young?”

“No. Oh god no. It was rather the contrary, to be honest. The other children were often cruel to him.” She says. “You know how it is. We’re are not a large foster home, we have little funds, and the children do all they can to be adopted. No one wants to be thrown about in foster care forever, you know.”

“Yes.” Dumbledore prompts.

“Well, Hadrian was such a sweet child.” She says. “He was handsome even then, and an extraordinary student to boot. He was reading books at a college level last I saw of him. He was a fast learner, a natural in everything he did. He was charming, well mannered, and polite, if a bit shy and antisocial. Naturally the others felt threatened by him.We didn't have any evidence when things would happen, and he’s such a solitary person. He never came to us for help. Orphans often are like that, you know, a side effect of feeling like their parents abandoned them. He didn’t have friends to defend him or say anything to help him." She sighs. “It was honestly a relief when he was adopted. I feared something bad would happen, or that Hadrian would finally stand up for himself one day and hurt himself and the others terribly. It’s not that I thought Hadrian capable of violence, but my father always said one should never underestimate a caged animal, and a bullied child is just that, in a way.”

Before Dumbledore can respond, a small girl is walking in with a small stack of papers. “Here you go Mrs. Cassidy. This is all we have on Hadrian James Potter.”

“Thank you Samantha.” She says, and the girl nods and leaves the room. There is silence for a beat, and then Mrs. Cassidy scribbles something on a small piece of paper the size and shape of a business card. “Here you go, Mr. Dumbledore. This is the current address and phone number of Hadrian James Potter, as far as we are aware. I’d call them first. If you have any trouble just call us, and we’ll see what we can do to help. Good luck.”

Dumbledore thanks her, borrows her telephone, and leaves ten minutes later with an appointment to meet with Harry Potter’s adoptive father and a lump in his throat. The name he was given was not a muggle name, and nor was the address.

**~~**

The next morning at eight am, Albus Dumbledore stands at the door of a three story Victorian in a magical village in Kent. It is a pretty place, painted gray wood and white trims, with large rectangular windows and a teal painted door. There is a garden of magical and non-magical plants in the front, and a small forest and the sound of a waterfall in the back. The white painted iron fence is intricate and elegant as the house, and there are two black cars of an expensive make Dumbledore is unfamiliar with in the white stone drive way. It’s rather understated for the summer home of a Pureblood.

The door is answered by a short creature with large, tennis-ball-like brown eyes, a pencil-like nose and long, bat-like pointed ears, dressed in a clean and well kept black pinstripe pillowcase. A house elf. He does not appear to be treated badly, which is a good sign. “Good morning.” Dumbledore greets cheerfully.

“Follow me.” The house elf says shortly, and he opens the door wider and leads Dumbledore to an empty sitting room.

The room is as elegant as the outside of the house, with black marble, gray stone, and dark stained wood floors. Over the mantle is a motionless portrait of a man and a boy, recently painted, but the job was exceptionally well done. The picture depicts a tall pale man dressed in an elegant suit and a pair of white silk gloves, with neatly styled dark brown hair, piercing silver eyes, and elegant features. Standing next to him, is a handsome boy. He is nothing like Albus was expecting. In a way he really does take much after his father, who very few remember was the splitting image of his grandmother, Isolde Black. He has hair as black as coal, silky and strait, and not nearly as messy as his father’s, though still a touch wild. It brushes his shoulders and sweeps into his jewel green eyes. He has his mother’s face, high cheekbones and long lashes framing his wide almond shaped too bright eyes, and her flawless ivory skin. His clothes are neat, elegant, and darkly colored, and he wears no glasses like the headmaster had been expecting.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster Dumbledore." A voice sounds behind him.

He turns to stare at the man. The portrait on the mantle does justice to his likeness, though he is much handsomer in real life. He's familiar, Dumbledore realizes. He was a student a couple years younger than Lily and James' year, a Slytherin if he recalls correctly, and one of his brighter students, but not someone who he ever called into the office for any reason, despite how especially proficient in defense and dueling he proved to be. Dumbledore had his hands too full with far more important things than to get to know each student. He regrets it now.

"Are you Mr. Pyrites?" He asks.

"I am." He confirms. "I must confess I am concerned about your interest in my ward." Pyrites continues, his body language polite but tense. Dumbledore notices he called Harry his ward, not his son. He wonders if he can use that."You could have sent a letter, so it is concerning that you felt it necessary to come here like he was some common muggle-born. If this has anything to do with Hadrian's legacy as the defeater of the last dark lord, then know you will have much to answer for."

Dumbledore swallows the lump in his throat. "This is a strictly professional visit." He lies carefully. "We are trying a new policy of individually visiting our incoming students this year, and-"

Pyrites interrupts him. "Oh please!" He sneers. "Save your lying for your pathetic followers, Headmaster. We both know why you really are here. Let's not disrespect each other enough to be untruthful.. You will , however, keep this visit entirely professional and not let your judgments and preconceptions over rule your head. I am allowing this pathetic attempt of yours simply for my ward's sake, and for his sake only, so unless you are going to back up those words, keep your poisonous tongue to yourself." He pauses while Dumbledore nods and, with a voice as cold and dispassionate as his expression, he speaks again."I am curious though. Tell me, what exactly possessed you to think it was a good idea to leave a fifteen month old child on a cold doorstep in the middle of the night in November?"

Dumbledore blanches, his old face going the same ashen gray white as old porridge. He feels attacked and backed into a corner. He has to wonder how the man even knows about that, but before he can even attempt to come up with a good answer, he is saved.

"Father, don't be rude." A voice says. Dumbledore turns to see the reason he is here in the first place. He, too, is very like his picture, but his jewel green eyes are bright and reminiscent of the killing curse in person. Harry Potter sits down. "Sit down please. I'll have Bast prepare us some tea. We can talk as soon as it is done brewing.

Dumbledore situates himself across from Harry with a cordial smile, and Pyrites sits to his ward's right side with a fierce protectiveness burning in his pale shimmering eyes. After a soft spoken but firm order, another house elf pops in with a heavy silver tea tray. It becomes obvious as soon as she sets down the tray that there is quite the ritual to this tea drinking. She does not stay like he thought she would however.

"Is that all, Master Hadrian?" The house elf, Bast, asks.

"That is all, Bast. You may leave." He answers, and the house elf looks elated as she pops away. Harry reaches over and sets about to make the tea himself. Dumbledore simply chooses to be silent and watch.

Harry places three prettily painted tea cups on the table, surrounding an empty crystal tea pot. They match well, all clear as polished glass painted with vines and tiny star shaped pale pink and white flowers. He opens a small black case, and using silver tongs pulls out six tiny red flowers buds, dropping them delicately into the crystal tea pot. He closes the case and picks up a tall elegant silver pot, and pours water in a high arc over the buds until the water almost reaches the top of the crystal tea pot.

Dumbledore opens his mouth to speak, but upon seeing the others’ attention still on the tea, he looks back to the tea pot to see what has them so riveted. The clear water has turned a shade of pale pink, with a shot of more intense color spinning through the water from the buds. Slowly the beds open up to reveal tiny scarlet flowers with many delicate petals crowded against each other, each one shaped like the bottom wings of a swallowtail butterfly, long tails curling upwards and outwards in tiny spirals. As the flowers reveal themselves, the water changes from pale pink to jewel pink to blood red, like an eerie sunset, and soon the color is so dark that the flowers would have been lost, had they not floated up to the top, no longer red, but pale pink, as if they had simply given the tea their color. The tea emits a delicate floral perfume, not entirely unlike honeysuckle in aroma, and the tea is gently poured into each cup.

Dumbledore is quite awed by the small act of theater, and when the glass is passed to him, he only waits long enough to flavor his with lemon and honey, an action that gets him a sneer and a look of disapproval, and to watch the two sip theirs first, before taking a sip himself. The tea is delicate in flavor, nearly overwhelmed by the lemon and honey he flavored it with. The flowers clearly had their own sweetness, but beneath the lemon and honey, the headmaster tastes a tea unlike any other. It has a very light sort of flavor, not unlike roses and peaches, but with a delicate sourish bite not from the lemon.

"It's good." He says politely as he sets the tea cup down on the cherry table. He moved it to the clear tea saucer at the twin glares and wipes at the damp ring on the table.

"Just good?" Harry prompts. Dumbledore has no forthcoming answer, so he nods, and the boy who lived glares. "Just good. Fascinating." He says, and his voice is no longer polite and calm, but stiff and cold. "Fairy Heart tea is a delicacy, once served to kings and queens by the Fae, in the old days when magic was free. Each of those buds is worth 20 galleons." Dumbledore chokes on the sip of tea he had just taken.

"Hadrian." Both look over to Pyrites. "It is my turn to tell you to be polite, my son. You should have realized he would not understand the honor you bestowed him when he ruined the delicate flavors of the tea by adding honey and lemon."

"Sorry father." He turns and repeats the apology to Dumbledore, but it is much less sincere. Dumbledore accepts and eyes his tea warily.

He has heard of Fairy Heart flowers. They only grow in red, along the beds of rivers. To grow them, one must plant the seeds inside a corpse, and they only bloom under water during the night. It is no wonder each bloom is so expensive. Eaten raw, they are severely poisonous, and only by drying them and making a tea of them do the flowers become edible. It is quite disrespectful to change it after brewing. He realizes then that they were testing him, though in what he has to wonder. He doubts he passed.

He decides then that he has waited long enough, and made a fool inadvertently of himself besides, so he smiles and speaks. "I suppose we ought to get to business."

"Yes, I suppose we should." Pyrites answers. He turns to his ward. "Hadrian, this is Albus Dumbledore. He's here to gawk at you like a common peasant and make sure you are not being raised by a death eater." He continues mockingly. "Under the guise of being here to talk to you about Hogwarts, of course."

"Father." Harry says in an exasperated warning, but fond, sort of voice. "You'll forgive my father's impoliteness. He is very protective of me, and aware you are the reason I was in the orphanage in the first place. You've done little to endear yourself to him besides. I am Hadrian Potter."

"Yes, I know." Dumbledore replies cheerily. "I did not mean to disrespect your father, and nor did I mean to anger you, dear boy."

"Headmaster Dumbledore, I have not permitted you to call me anything informally." Harry says. "It is not polite to assume you have such a right. You will call me Mr. Potter, Hadrian if you absolutely refuse to use your manners in my home, or you will leave immediately."

"Very well." He nods, inwardly grimacing at his Pureblood mannerisms. If this man has taken time to teach him, all his careful plans will have to be reevaluated. He pulls the Hogwarts letter out of his robes and hands it to the boy.

"For future reference, I will not answer to Harry." He says. "My legal birth name is Hadrian, and it is the only name I answer too. I hope this won't be a problem."

"I understand. We shouldn't expect you to answer to the nickname your parents gave you as a child." He answers uneasily, inwardly making a note to remember to change his name on the attendance sheet.

"Well, everything seems to be in order. I assume I don't need to owl if I tell you I plan to go now." It's not a question.

Dumbledore answers regardless. "Of course." He says.

"Then we are done here. Tally will show you to the door, Headmaster. Have a good evening." He says disinterestedly.

The first house elf shows the Headmaster out, and Dumbledore leaves in silence. He did not remind him of young Tom Riddle, but his cold uninterested demeanor was eerie in its own right. In the short time he was there he learned nothing. It doesn't bode well.

**~~~~~~**

**A/N: Pyrites is a Death Eater described as a dandy wizard wearing silk gloves, and as Voldemort's right hand man, intended to be put in the first book, but who was deleted in place of showing Mr. Dursley's strange day in the beginning. I needed a Death Eater of an unassuming background who I could otherwise pretend just never was found out by the Order, so Dumbledore would be unaware of his death eater parentage, but that readers in the know would be smart enough to figure out.** **The tea ceremony is inspired by the sea lily tea ceremony in Justin Somper's _Vampirates: Tide of Terror_ , the second book in his series, which I highly recommend if you are into vampires and ocean adventures.**

 


	2. Weaving Webs

** **

**The Dark Is Rising**

**Spider Cider | Elijah J. Sage**

**Chapter Two ~ Weaving Webs**

* * *

Had Albus Dumbledore known then what he would discover much later on his death bed, there is no room to doubt that he would have stolen Hadrian Potter from his home then and there, and taken him off to some place far away from his current caretaker. Unfortunately for him, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry put much faith in the words and reports of his spy for the dark; a man called Severus Snape, who had been in Voldemort’s confidence before his fall at the hands of fifteen month old Harry Potter; completely unaware that he had, in fact, been keeping a rather important bit of information a secret, an ace in his sleeve in case Dumbledore ever got it in his head to betray him. It was a simple secret, regarding the identity, and for that matter existence, of a man the dark lord put his utmost faith into, the most trusted and respected of all the death eaters, and Voldemort’s right hand man. A man known by the name Julius Achelous Pyrites.

But alas, Dumbledore did not know this secret, so he left the Pyrites Manor within scarce few minutes of his arrival, mentally exhausted by the whole ordeal, and in need of a strong stiff drink to ease his worried old mind. He left neither as horrified and unsettled by Hadrian as he feared he would leave, but nor did he leave as hopeful and confident in the child savior as he had hoped to be.

**~~**

Two days after the meeting with Dumbledore has Pyrites conducting important business in the dark dirty streets of Knocturn Alley, which means that Hadrian is to be left alone to get his school supplies from Diagon Alley, and expected to later meet up with his adoptive father if he is not finished with his business. This isn’t the first time he has been left to his own devises while Pyrites conducted business, but it is the first time he is to do so as himself. He feels a bit naked and exposed without his usual disguises, but it can not be helped. Today, Hadrian must be the Harry Potter, the child savior and boy-who-lived, exactly what people expect of him, and nothing like what they fantasize all at once, a perfect balance of the person he was raised to be, and the person they want him to be. As they leave their home for the Alleys, Hadrian feels like an actor in a play watched by the greatest critics or talent scouts ever known, where one mistake will ruin his career. In a way it is exactly true, for one mistake will unravel his careful plans, and leave him suspect in many things.

With his father in the Alley, Hadrian decides his first trip must be to Gringotts, the magical bank run by goblins. He has been there many times before, of course, but he has never been allowed to touch his own money. Pyrites has always given him an allowance from his vaults to cover all his needs. Today his guardian gave him no change, only an order that he take care of the goblins himself, and that he not spend all of his money in a single day.

He walks up to the counter politely, and clears his throat firmly to gain the goblin’s attentions. “Excuse me, Master Goblin, but I would like to speak with the manager in charge of my accounts, please.” he requests formally, as he has been taught.

The goblin sneers down at him. “Get lost kid. We don’t have time to cater to little brats all day.”

Hadrian scowls, his cordial mood lost to the rudeness of the goblin before him. His father warned him this might happen though, goblins are not known to be well mannered when faced with petty sticky fingered children day in and day out demanding to be let into their families main vaults, so Hadrian is anything but ill prepared. He gathers his magic, pooling his intent into it, and surrounds the goblin bank teller with malicious intent, using his magic as a physical force to slowly crush him until the goblin finally breaks his cold demeanor and lets out the barest desperate whimper, the show of weakness Hadrian was hoping for. His lips spread into a small smile.

“I believe you misunderstood me.” he says in a smooth careful voice. “I am requesting that you call the manager of my vaults, and I will not be leaving until I have finished the business I am here to conduct. You will call my account manager, or I will come back later with someone you will have no choice but to listen to, and we will clear out every account I own, and find someone else to put our faith in.”

“I understand.” The goblin speaks through gritted teeth, wincing as the magical force crushes him even more, knowing that should he loose a customer he will be punished severely by the bank head. He lets out a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief when Hadrian lets him go. “Name please?”

“Hadrian James Potter.” He answers dutifully.

The goblin makes a noise like disbelief. “And do you have your key?” he asks nastily.

“I do not.” Hadrian answers sweetly. “I am willing to take a blood test to confirm my identity, of course.”

“There is a fee of ten galleons.” The goblin sneers. “Have you the gold to pay for it?”

“No, but I shall pay you as soon as you allow me access to my vaults.” Hadrian forces himself not to smile to wide at the glaring sneer he gets with those words, instead making himself seem cross and only barely intimidated, as if trying to be polite and firm despite actually being afraid and angry at being treated in such a way. He hates showing any weakness, but he must use it to get what he wants.

“What use is your word, human?” the bank teller growls. “I’ll ask again, what have you to pay for the blood test that is of use to us?”

“I have nothing.” Hadrian says, only raising his voice slightly, not enough to draw attention from the other customers, but enough to get the point across. “I will pay you after the test is complete.”

“Well then, Mr. Potter,” His name is said so derisively he has trouble not bristling in real anger, “I’ll have to ask you to leave this bank.”

“And I’ll have to decline.” He smirks.

The bank teller opens his sharp toothed mouth in anger, but before he can speak, another voice comes to his aid. “I’ll pay for his test, Goblin. You are causing a disgraceful scene.”

Hadrian turns to see a tall man with long platinum blonde hair and cold gray eyes, dressed in expensive and well made wizarding robes, holding a long staff with a silver snake head top. Hadrian bows his head in thanks as the man drops the coins onto the counter, and the goblin sneers but leaves to get the test.

“I thank you for coming to my aid, Lord Malfoy.” He says.

Lucius Malfoy looks partway surprised, and the other part pleased that he knows his name, but there is a gleam of impressed almost awe at his use of a formal Pureblood expression of gratitude. Very few still use such manners, especially one as young as him. “Glad to be of assistance...” he trails off clearly hoping for an introduction.

“Heir Potter-Black, at your service, My Lord.” he introduces himself, and he bows his head once more in respect. The gesture is returned with a slight tilt of his head, and once again the Malfoy patriarch’s eyes war between emotions, in this case anger at his supposed defeat of the dark lord, surprise at who he says he is, and the cold calculating of someone realizing the potential for a powerful ally.

“Here!” the goblin returns with another goblin, a female he suspects is the head goblin in charge of this branch of Gringotts, passing a dagger curtly to Hadrian. “Cut your left index finger diagonally across with the dagger, drip six drops of your blood onto the parchment, and heal the cut before you bleed all over our floors.” Hadrian does as asked. The blood glows for a second, and then it snakes across the page to form words in elegant crimson lettering.

**Name: Hadrian “Harry” James Potter.**

**Age: Eleven. Born on July 31, 1980**

**Primary Heir: House Potter, House Black**

**Secondary Heir: House Peverell. Peverell Primary Heir - Tom Marvolo Riddle.**

**Notes On Peverell Lordship: Primary Heir Status Defaults To Hadrian James Potter’s Ownership If Tom Marvolo Riddle Does Not Claim Peverell Lordship By July 31, 1997, Or At Such A Time As Hadrian James Potter’s Majority Prior To His Seventeenth Year (Early Lordship, Emancipation, Creature Inheritance, Immortality, **et cetera** ), Where Hadrian James Potter May Claim Lordship Of Peverell House Before Deadline Is Up.**

**Vault Summary: 687 - Potter Trust Vault , 429 - Black Trust Vault, 764 - Peverell Trust Vault, 896 - Potter Main Vault (Restricted Access - Full Access Upon Majority), 632 & 633 - Black Main Vaults (Restricted Access - Full Access Upon Majority or Death of Current Lord Black), 922 & 946 & 966 - Peverell Main Vaults (Restricted Access - Full Access Upon Majority). Potter Vaults - 1,663,286,004 galleons, currently able to access 1,050,000 galleons. Black Vaults - 33,265,720,081 galleons, currently able to access 1,500,000 galleons. Peverell Vaults - 20,688,529,343,143,362 galleons - currently able to access 615,050, 046 galleons. Sickles and Knuts not counted. Books, Properties, jewelry, and other belongings given full access to be removed at age 11. Request information. Potter Account Manager - Griphook. Black Account Manager - Orcris. Peverell Account Manager - Razox.**

Hadrian doesn’t let his surprise show. Lucius Malfoy is only slightly more successful in that, but no one could blame them had they let their mouths drop open like common peasants at the vault summary. Even the goblins themselves look surprised, a rare feat indeed. Hadrian has 617,600,046 galleons total at his disposal, around 2,238,006,811.32 British pounds or 2,970,505,598.98 American dollars, if he remembers his conversion rates properly, and in a few years he’ll have somewhere around 20,688,564,272,149,447 galleons, which he believes is around 749,694,694,121,712,768.00 British pounds or 995,069,485,557,796,001.00 American dollars. His guardian is quite rich, but not nearly as rich as he appears to be.

“Everything appears to be in order.” The female goblin says at last. “Brayhorn, go get Account Managers Griphook, Orcris, and Razox. It seems they have a powerful customer to talk with.” As the bank teller leaves the other goblin fixes them with a pained apologetic grimace. “I am Head Goblin Sistrax, I run this branch of Gringotts. On behalf on my colleague I apologize for his earlier rudeness to you , Heir Potter Black Peverell, and I offer you a single favor or request from the goblin nation for free, a gesture of our goodwill in hopes of continuing fair business with you.”

“I accept your apology.” he smiles. “As for this favor, what restrictions does it have.”

“None.” Sistrax says with an oddly constipated look, no doubt expecting him to be a child and ask for something pathetic like doubling his riches. She needn’t worry so much, for Hadrian is no ordinary child.

“Well then,” he speaks softly, knowing that only she and the Malfoy Lord can hear him, “The goblin from earlier, what was he called?”

“Bank Teller Brayhorn.” She informs.

“I want Brayhorn’s heart delivered to me before I leave on a silver platter, and his head mounted on a spike on the ledge in front of the Potter Trust Vault, a warning to all to make sure you do not toy with me.” he smiles cruelly.

The goblin, and the Malfoy patriarch as well, looks faint, horrified, and awed all at once. “It shall be done, Heir Potter Black Peverell.”

One and a half hours later, when he is done speaking individually with his account managers, and he is leaving with a magical pouch that allows him to simply call as much money as he requires directly from his vault, Sistrax herself delivers the heart to him on his way out the door, and it is still warm and bleeding in his hands. Lucius Malfoy looks decidedly faint as he transfers it to a magical preserving ball in his black dragon hide money pouch, but he still extends an invitation to Hadrian to visit his Manor, which he accepts before the man leaves to meet up with his own family. Hadrian grins wickedly as he walks away, wondering how he will react when he realizes just who exactly raised him.

**~~**

He gets his school trunk first, a sleek black one with silver lining and no clasps to be seen. His initials are written in small silver letters on the side with the clasps, leaving it otherwise non-descriptive and rather plain, albeit elegant and obviously expensive. It too is made of black dragon hide, and it is charmed to the teeth. It can only be opened by a password spoken by him, and by releasing the hidden clasps. Inside it has a two library compartments, one secret and one easily accessed, a potion compartment, a stationary compartment,a wardrobe compartment, two other compartments for whatever he desires to put in them, and another secret compartment for whatever he could decide to hide in it. His messenger bag is made of the same dragon hide and silver combination, charmed to stay weightless and never be too full no mater what he deems necessary to put in it.

After leaving there he sets about gathering school supplies, such as quills, stationary, parchment scrolls, ink bottles, and other supplies, knowing he will probably take the most time in _Flourish and Blotts_ , which he leaves for last.

He gets two sets of stationary, a plain but elegant set for school, and a slightly more expensive and extravagant set for his own personal use. He gets self inking quills made of raven feathers, and another set of more traditional quills made of Kagu flight feathers for school and homework only. He doesn’t get himself oddly colored or special ink, just a few bottles of quick drying black and a few more in a dark grayish color. He has no need of such frivolous things as invisible or fancily colored inks, only the simple plain colors charmed so he does not leave ink blots and smears all over his class and school works. He grew out of the novelty of rainbow and scented inks as a child.

He makes his own potions kit with crystal phials, dragon hide gloves, the highest quality cauldron within the parameters of the school’s request, easy since all they requested was that the cauldron be Pewter in the standard class size 2, and the finest quality ingredients he can buy, including many that are not on his list. The potions kits sold to first years and students are sub-par at best, with the low quality ingredients causing problems with brewing, and according to his father his new potion’s professor is a strict man with little patience.

He even buys himself an amber eyed snowy owl from the pet shop, with a complete lack of coloring that suggests her to be male, but that is to be expected of a magical breed. He calls her Hedwig, a German name meaning war, and a name she shares with a famous duelist from one of his books at home.

With everything but his Hogwarts wardrobe, his books, and his wand left, Hadrian decides to get his wand next. He heads off to Olivander’s with all his supplies neatly tucked into his school trunk, and Hedwig flying around overhead. The shop is dusty and dark, but it is filled with such magic that is is nearly oppressive to his magical sensitivity.

Olivander greets him, and goes on to ramble about his parents wands, and even mentions Voldemort’s wand when he jabs a cold pale finger against the thin lightning bolt lines of his scar. Eventually they move onto actually finding him a wand, but box after box and wand after wand fail in his hands. A part of him is pleased, to be such a tricky customer while most find their wand after three or four tries, but on the other hand he can feel the pull of the wand he is meant for, and it is frustrating to be forced to feel wand after wand out when he could just simply walk behind the counter and grab it himself. Eventually Olivander does pick it up, and the wand sparks with magic at his touch. Eleven inches, Holly wood as pale as snow white bones, with a phoenix feather core, the brother to Voldemort’s wand. He pays for it and a wrist holster and leaves promptly.

He spends all his time in _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ thinking upon the oddity of it all as she fits him for his school robes. It isn’t strange to find brother wands, twin wands are rare, yes, but brother and sister wands are quite common, specifically with unicorn or dragon wands. What is strange is that he shares a core with Voldemort’s wand, and it is poetic in a way, but also almost too coincidental. If it were not for the impossibility of such a thing, Hadrian would almost suspect that the wand had been planted for him, but he knows that is quite impossible. Although, knowing his views on that word, perhaps he should say improbable, for nothing is truly impossible.

**~~**

When Minerva McGonagall heads into _Flourish and Blotts_ with the curious young muggle-born, Hermione Granger, and her parents, she is grateful that she choose to do the bookstore last, as the girl is more than likely destined for Ravenclaw, that is, if she does not follow after many other muggle-born students of the past, sorted into Gryffindor because that is the house of the first magical person she was introduced to. Nine out of ten muggle-born and muggle-raised students are sorted into the house of the first magical person they come into contact with. It is rare occurrence otherwise.

Hermione is browsing the shelves, having already gotten her school books, when a tall black haired boy comes down the same aisle and peaks over her shoulder. He chuckles softly, as if highly amused by something, and McGonagall and her parents stands up, ready to intervene if they are needed, but content to watch and eavesdrop for the time being.

“No, don’t read this one. It’s got one of the worst theory on Harry Potter’s whereabouts ever.” He says. “Or at least one of the top five worst.”

The book in Hermione’s hands is called _Heroes Of The Light_ by Joanne Bathra, and McGonagall agrees with the boy wholeheartedly, for the book claims that Harry Potter was raised from the moment he exited his mother’s womb in unknown hidden light magic with the full purpose of defeating dark lords, and that after his glorious defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named he was secreted away by the personification of Light Magic to be trained in the art of the Light, only to come back when they would truly need his power again. McGonagall used to laugh at all the theories, for she’d thought she had always known where he was being raised, safe with his relatives, possibly just as spoiled as the toddler she’d watched kicking his mother up the street years ago, but also possibly a polite and sweet young man. However, that was before two days ago, when Dumbledore came back from a meeting looking ill, and informed her that the Dursleys had left Harry Potter outside the police station, and that he had been adopted from an orphanage by a wizard named Julius Pyrites; who McGonagall could only remember as being a quiet Ravenclaw who often hung out at the Slytherin table, and one of the most promising students of his year.

“Of course, it’s all rubbish really.” The boy continues as Hermione turns to look at him curiously, closing the book. “No one except the people who were there know what happened that night, and two are dead, one is speculated to be dead or simply unable to return right now, and the other was just fifteen months old. You would have to ask him, I suppose, but considering his age at the time of the events, who’s to say he knows anything. Sadly all you will read is just one hundred percent speculation and fantasy, I’m afraid.”

“How would you know, then?” Hermione counters. “One of these theories could be true. He could have done an interview with the author. Although, this is the worst theory I have read, I agree.”

The boy grins widely. “Well, I would like to think I know what I’ve been up to all these years, seeing as I am the one living my life, but you are right. Maybe Ms. Joanne Bathra is correct, and I only think I know my life.”

McGonagall’s jaw drops open in shock. This boy is Harry Potter? Of course, now that she’s paying such strict attention to him, she can see that he looks very much like his parents, and he has the same unique gemstone green eyes his mother had, not quite emerald or peridot, but some other jewel they never managed to find a likeness to.

“You’re Harry Potter?” Hermione gasps, wide eyed.

“I am indeed.” He confirms. “Though I prefer my birth name, Hadrian, to the nickname my mother and father gave me as a babe. And you are?”

“I’m Hermione Granger.” She introduces smartly, sticking out her hand to be shaken. It is a testament to his upbringing in a pure-blood family that he bends down to press a kiss to her fingers, an action that gains a fair amount of blushing from Hermione.

“A pleasure, Miss Granger.” he smiles.

He does not ask if she is muggle-born, or sneer at her name, and for that McGonagall breaths out a sigh of relief. Pureblood raised or not, he at least is not a supremacist. Perhaps her worries of him being dark are ill founded, a bias drawn from the crowd Pyrites had hung out with, and he is neutral or gray.

“You can call me Hermione.” She mutters, still obviously flustered.

“Hermione, then.” Hadrian grins sweetly. “You can call me Hadrian.”

Hermione looks down at another book, open on the table top beside her. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you spend the last ten years if you were not,” she reads from the book with a derisive snort, “secretly being raised by your parents, who you had brought back using the power of love, the same force you used to defeat You-Know-Who all those years ago.”

“Does it really say that?” he asks, and looks down to the passage she points to. He laughs. “Awful, just awful, I really ought to sue everyone who has ever written anything about me. They never did contact me to ask for permission, after all.” The two laugh together, and McGonagall watches with a fond smile on her face. “As for how I have spent my life, I grew up in an orphanage until I was four, when I was adopted by my father.” He continues in answer to her question. “He is a kind and loving man, my father, if a bit traditional. I have been training in magic since I was very young, but I also received a muggle education. Knowledge is power, to my family, and we never shun an opportunity to learn.”

“My parents are dentists. I only just learned about magic today.” Hermione informs him. “I’m fear I’ll be the dumbest person in the class.”

Hadrian laughs at that, but not unkindly. “Nonsense.” He says. “I mean look at how many books you have.” Hermione’s book tote is groaning under the weight of all the books she has picked up to buy, but then again so is his. “If you have enough money, and you haven’t already gotten one, you ought to get yourself a trunk with an extended library compartment. You should worry, there are plenty of muggle-born and muggle raised students in every year, and very few magical families start training their children in more than basic magic before the age of ten anyways, so they are not bored to death in Hogwarts. I can lend you a few books to read before school to help you out, if you’d like.”

“Really?” she brightens. “You’d do that?”

“Well, of course.” Hadrian shrugs sheepishly. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Hermione has a sort of misty eyed happiness on her face, no doubt unused to friends, and McGonagall’s heart goes out to her. “Yes. Of course we are.” She says.

Hadrian grins. “Anyways, I’d stay to chat more Hermione, but I really must be off. My father and I promised to meet up after he was done with his business, and I was done with my school shopping, so I have to go.” He grabs her arm, and writes on it with a purple marker. “That’s my address. I’ll send Hedwig with the books tomorrow, and we can send letters back and forth if you’d like.”

Hermione grins and nods, then writes her own address on his arm as well. “Bye Hadrian.” She calls as he wanders off to pay for his books.

“See you on the train Hermione.” He calls back, and he grins at her as he walks out of the door a few minutes later, his books in his trunk, obviously a library trunk like he suggested she get, and McGonagall watches with a pleased expression, happy that Hermione will not be alone if she is sorted into Ravenclaw, and resolute in her knowledge that Hadrian Potter is not as dark as they feared he might be. Hadrian bumps into Hagrid on his way out, and though she can't hear the exchange, she suspects he is apologizing. Hagrid leaves with a smile, and Hadrian pockets a small brown package he clearly dropped during the accidental collision, before heading in the opposite direction.

**~~~~~~**

**A/N: This Chapter Was Finished Faster Than Expected, But Don't Count On All My Updates Being Fast, I do Have A Job And College To Attend To First. I Know Hermione Isn't Always a Favorite Character, But I wanted To Put a Different Twist On The Traditional Dark Harry Story. The Small Brown Package Is A Very Important Thing And A Main Plot Device, HINT HINT! I Almost Forgot, The Amount Of Money I Gave Hadrian Is Not Because Of Any Plot Reason. I Let My Little Sister Choose Numbers And Converted It Back TO USD And Pounds For The Reader's Convenience. Thank You For Reading, And Thank Those Of You Who Gave Me Kudos, Bookmarked, Subscribed, And/Or Commented.**

 


	3. Cobwebs

** **

**The Dark Is Rising**

**Spider Cider | Elijah J. Sage**

**Chapter Three ~ Cobwebs**

* * *

The first prophecy of Sybill Cassandra Trelawney destroyed many lives, but none more so than the life of young Harry James Potter, just fifteen months old when he lost his parents.

That late Halloween night, the Dark Lord, a fearsome man by the name Voldemort, though few would dare speak the name aloud, came to the Potters' home in Godric's Hallow, England, and gave both the chance to live, not wanting to spill unnecessary pure blood for one, and at the request of a loyal follower for the other. He urged them to stand aside, one at a time, and after three tries he killed them. James Potter fell first, wandless and bloodied in the living room, his corpse sprawled out on the floor, his glasses crushed underfoot as Voldemort swept up the stairs to get to their son. Lily fell next, screaming as the green light hit her, though the spell itself caused her no pain, her body slumped down in eternal sleep before the crib of their child, eyes open but dulled in death like they were made of glass. Voldemort turned to the child, staring unblinkingly up at him with eyes like the killing curse the Dark Lord was so fond of, and he said the words which would spell his doom with unwavering confidence in the righteousness of his actions.

"Avada Kedavra!" The bright green light of the spell went steaming fast to the fifteen month old, who reached out to it as if to welcome it.

What the Dark Lord did not know, was that Lily Aurora Potter, nee Evans, was clever. She knew this day would come, she knew she would die, and she had prepared for her death.

Three months earlier, before their whereabouts became a secret, Lily preformed a highly illegal and long forgotten blood ritual to protect her child, one which would activate upon her death. That ritual, combined with the natural magic of the vow he made to a follower to spare her, a protection later traded to her son when she said to take her instead, made the killing curse rebound and hit the Dark Lord in an explosion of magic. Voldemort had set aside a fail-safe to keep from dying entirely, but his body was destroyed and his soul cast into the world far from the cottage. Meanwhile, Harry Potter died. His soul left his body for a full thirty seconds, before it came back into his body, but a tiny shard was left in the realm of death, to make room for the tiny shard of Voldemort's own soul that got inexplicably caught inside his empty body during the explosion.

The rest, as they say, is history.

**~~**

Hadrian waits until he is out of sight and alone before he pulls the strange package out of his pocket. It’s an unassuming little thing, wrapped in grubby brown paper and twine, but the magical essence it pours off draws Hadrian’s highly sensitive magic to it like a moth to a flame. He is careful when unwrapping, in case the unassuming paper is enchanted, unable to be felt over the strength of the magical power of the item it hides. In his hands is a rufescent stone, red as a robin’s breast, about the size of a plum. It is polished to shine, but it’s surface is rough, albeit smooth and cold as glass. He turns it over, and the light catches it, glinting off in shades of lava like orange and purplish red, as though it holds an enchanted fire trapped inside it.

The sounds of a commotion draws his hesitant eyes away, and Hadrian quickly wraps the stone back up under it’s brown papers, and transfers it to his bottomless dragon hide bag to the deepest darkest corner of the Peverell Trust Vault. It is his most heavily guarded vault, aside from the main vaults, which he may not take anything out of, regardless of whether he puts it in. He plans to show the stone to his father, in hopes his guardian knows what he holds, and he can’t do that if the stone is beyond his reach.

In the shadows and relative safety of his hiding place, Hadrian calls one of his house elves, Moira, to get his things back home, and she leaves with all of his things, leaving him alone and unburdened. He pulls a long black cloak with a large hood over his simple darkly shaded attire, hiding himself from view, and he ducks out of his hiding place and into the dark and eerie streets of Knocturn Alley. In his darker clothes and hooded cloak, no one pays him any attention as he strolls down the cobblestone road to the inn at the back of the alley, The Slaughtered Witch, where his father is most likely to be.

The inn is as dark as the alley inside. It is furnished with black wood tables and chairs, matching the floors and stairs, and the walls are painted a deep steel gray color. It is dimly lit, but very clean, and the wood creaks with age as he makes his way from the front to the table in the back corner, where he spotted his father sitting. He draws out a chair and sits, drawing a started look from his father’s companion, none other than Lucius Malfoy, laughingly enough.

“Ah, my son. Welcome. I’d tell you to sit with us, but you’ve already done so.” His father says, and the tension leaves Lucius’s shoulders, though only a trained eye would have seen it in the first place. “This is Lucius Malfoy, a colleague of mine.”

“We’ve met.” He says, lifting his head and rearranging his hood in the slightest way, so that the candle illuminates his face, but no one but his two companions can see his face.

The Malfoy lord is unable to stop the gasp of shock upon seeing his face, but he composes himself quite well otherwise. “You?” he gasps. He turns to Hadrian’s guardian. “Him?”

“Yes.” His father grins. “I found him in an orphanage, not yet four years old. I had gone there to finish what our Lord had been planning that fateful night, but when I got there I saw his potential, and found myself unable to kill him. I thought to myself, what use would it be to have the power to vanquish someone, if you never desired to use it? So, I took him in, and raised him as my son, never lying to him about anything. He is, of course, aware that once we resurrect the Dark Lord, he may die, but he is willing to die for our cause.”

“I admit, I wasn’t expecting this, but it certainly explains why you reminded my so much of Julius earlier.” Malfoy says eventually.

“Are you telling stories of me?” Hadrian asks, though the teasing tone of his voice shows no ill intent.

“Quite wonderful stories too, Hadrian.” his father chuckles. “Tell me, should I assume it is a coincidence that I complained of needing a goblin’s heart for a ritual, not an easy thing to find by any means, and you just happened to come into possession of one the next day?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “Of course it was a coincidence father. It’s not like I manipulated the situation to my liking, ensuring that I would receive a favor to use to order the death of the first goblin to be rude to me. I simply didn’t remember that I had my vault keys on a chain around my neck.” He says, twisting the small golden key in his fingers with a malicious smile. Malfoy gives him a mildly ill but awed look again. “Oops, silly me. I suppose you’ll have to forgive me, I’m only a forgetful child after all.” He continues with no apology in his voice or the nonchalant shrug that follows.

His father laughs wickedly. “You are a menace child, but I thank you all the same.”

Hadrian nods, but buzzing sound emits from Malfoy’s arm, interrupting before anyone can speak. He frowns down at his arm, before turning off the alarm he set on it. “I fear I have been away from my wife for too long.” He says, standing. “It was wonderful to see you again, Julius, and you as well Hadrian. I hope you will still join us for dinner before summer is up.” They agree and Lucius Malfoy leaves hastily, leaving the two of them alone to finish their tea.

**~~**

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Hadrian says abruptly, a few minutes of comfortable silence later. “I saw McGonagall in _Flourish and Blotts_ today. She was with a muggle-born girl of a high magical skill level. Her affinity feels dark to me. I figured she had potential, so rather than approaching McGonagall, I pretended I didn’t see her eavesdropping, and I made friends with the girl. I’m going to send her some books to help ease her into the magical world.”

Pyrites nods thoughtfully. “That was probably a wise decision. Dumbledore has no doubt told her about our meeting, and she likely had her own preconceptions. Approaching her directly may have seemed suspicious. Good thinking.”

“I thought the same thing.” Hadrian says. “If the fond look she was sending me as I left is any clue, then I’d say I was successful. If nothing else, I at least convinced her that I am not dark, as you fear Dumbledore would worry.”

“Well done, my son.” Pyrites smiles, and then he asks, “This muggle-born girl, you said she is your friend?”

“Yes, but not exactly.” Hadrian shrugs. “I like people with potential, but I wouldn’t consider a stranger a friend.” He takes a sip of tea and continues. “Would I tell her my father is a death eater? No, but I will sit with her at lunch, regardless of our houses, and defend her from those who still believe blood matters more than power, and teach her the old ways, and show her that dark does not equal evil, and light does not equal good. Maybe one day we will be actual friends, but you can’t really be friends with someone you just met.”

“No, I suppose you can’t.” Pyrites sips his tea and stares at the child in silence, reminiscing about the day he found him.

He had not lied to Lucius. He had gone to the orphanage to kill the child who had defeated the Dark Lord, but when he got there he saw the child speaking to a snake. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, he’d been the Dark Lord’s confidant, the keeper of his secrets. He knew then that the Potter child was a horcrux. Pyrites vowed then, as he magically influenced the muggle woman to allow him to adopt Hadrian, that he would do everything in his power to raise the boy as an ally rather than a threat.

Looking at him now, he feels proud, for he has succeeded, but he feels wary all the same. Hadrian is powerful, excessively so, and he is his own person. He is no serpent hiding in the rose bush as Pyrites had planned to raise him. Hadrian is a spider sitting in the dark on a web of his own design. He is patient, creative, cunning, resourceful, and a master manipulator, rivaling even the Dark Lord in his ability to coerce people to think and do as he wants them to. Hadrian has the ability to become a dark lord, if that is what he desires, one with a following to rival his own lord’s back before his obsession with the prophecy ruined everything. The worst part is, if forced to choose between dark lords, if his lord and Hadrian were not allies, Pyrites doesn’t know if he would go back to the Dark Lord he had once followed with such blind devotion, and the revelation leaves an acrid taste in his mouth.

“Come, Hadrian.” Pyrites says, standing, shaking himself inwardly to get rid of his traitorous thoughts. “It’s time we go home.”

“I have something I wish to show you when we get back. Something I think is important.” Hadrian says as he places the coins to pay for their drinks on the table. They leave silently, leaving only the whoosh of cloaks, and the near silent pop of apperation in their wake.

**~~**

The Philosopher’s stone. Hadrian stares at the red stone on the table between his father with no small amount of awe. He’s been carrying the Philosopher’s stone around all day, a rare bit of near impossible alchemy, with the ability to turn lead to gold, and produce the Elixir of Life, and he hadn’t had the slightest idea.

“How did you come by this, Hadrian?” his father asks, his voice so soft it almost sounds hoarse.

“The half-giant you told me of, Hagrid, dropped it when he nearly ran me over outside of _Flourish and Blotts_.” Hadrian says. “I felt the magical aura it was giving off, and I pocketed it. Of course, now that I know what it is, I am sure it is part of some test.”

“It’s likely not a test like you are imagining.” his father assures him. “Hagrid is a good source of information, but he isn’t an idiot. Even Dumbledore wouldn’t have been able to convince him to test you. He loved your mother and father dearly, as I recall. For all his loyalty to Dumbledore, he wouldn’t willingly put you under any sort of scrutiny. This is more likely a test for the Dark Lord.”

Hadrian’s eyes widen slightly as the revelation hits. “You think Dumbledore is trying to lure the Dark Lord to Hogwarts.” He says, and he is confident in his words.

“I do.” is the answer he receives.

Hadrian nods softly. “Will it work?”

His father’s laugh is bitter. “My lord wasn’t the most sane Dark Lord.” He answers. “He had split his soul many times because of his fear of death. Because of this, he often hyper-focused on things, as you would be aware for all the trouble the Prophecy brought upon us. I believe, given the chance to regain a body, and immortality besides, he would not be able to stay away.”

Hadrian nods once again. “So be it.” He says. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of summer. In a few weeks I shall apparently be meeting the Dark Lord.”

**~~~~~~**

**A/N: My life just got even more hectic, so I am splitting this chapter in two parts, and posting a shorter than usual chapter for just in case I am unable to post before August's end. This means this chapter is unrefined, unedited, and likely to go through several changes before I am happy with it. I am sorry if it is choppy. This chapter is technically still considered a draft, as I have not had it proof read. As always, updates monthly, and thank you all for reading, comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and your patience. Enjoy!**

**PS: Also, How long was everyone going to let chapter one say chapter number before someone told me? For that matter, how long was it going to be before someone mentioned that one of my works just disappeared? Has _Tempest In A Teacup_ been missing long? Does anyone know? Or care? I'm confused.**

 


	4. Author Note

**_Author Note_ **

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* * *

* * *

Hello! I am so sorry for the wait! Everything just sort of went tits up for a bit there. I lost my job, and then I couldn't pay for internet or my phone, so I had no ability to write. I am working on updates for everything right now. Sorry for the long wait.

~ Elijah. 


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